


Akhi

by incorrectbatfam



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27428884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incorrectbatfam/pseuds/incorrectbatfam
Summary: When Damian is transformed into a baby by the newest Gotham villain, the family scrambles to find a solution to their strange dilemma. But when the time comes to turn him back, one of his brothers refuses to let that happen.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Lian Harper & Jason Todd, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 49
Kudos: 618





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wisdom_walks_alone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisdom_walks_alone/gifts).



As Jason pulled into the Batcave, he wanted to do nothing more than dive under his duvet and close his eyes for the next week. He shook the gray Gotham sludge-snow from his chilled, aching body. It felt like the Batmobile had hit him and left to freeze into a popsicle in a ditch.

He sent his disregards to the Rogue’s gallery as he hung his helmet on the hook and peeled off his wet shirt. The vent both warmed him up and raised goosebumps on his skin, as though Thomas and Martha Wayne’s spirits got tired of sitting around decided to finally start haunting the place. Jason groaned. Stupid annoying old people ghosts.

Jason was positive he had a concussion. He got knocked around his fair share and was sleep-deprived enough to hallucinate. How else could he explain the sudden presence of a baby crying? In fact, it hadn’t gone away since he entered the Cave.

It wasn’t until after he hung his costume to dry and tugged on his sweats did Jason notice everyone gathered around the Batcomputer. Or more specifically, the Batcomputer chair. 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Dick spun around, a white splotch in the center of his suit’s logo, like a bird shat on him. “Little Wing! You’re back.”

“Excellent observation, Captain _Duh_.” He moved to see the thing behind Dick’s back, but Dick moved to cover it. Jason threw his hands up. “What the hell, Dickhead? Just lemme see.”

He shoved his brother aside. 

His jaw dropped.

Swaddled in the black-and-yellow cape, a baby sat in the seat, scowling at the surrounding people—Tim especially. (And honestly, Jason would do the same.) The oversized hood obscured the baby’s eyes. Jason moved it aside.

His breath hitched.

Jason shook his head. This wasn’t happening. His eyes were fooling him—he was sleep-deprived and seeing things. Or maybe it was a trick of the light. There was no way…

“Damian?”

As though to confirm Jason’s suspicions, the baby turned at the sound of his name. 

“How the f—”

“Language,” Dick warned. “There are kids present.”

“Newest Gotham villain,” Tim said. “A time-manipulating sorcerer who gets a kick out of aging and de-aging people. The brat got hit protecting a civilian.”

“Where are Bats and Alfie?”

“Bruce is seeing if Zatanna can reverse this and Alfred’s grabbing baby supplies,” said Dick.

“You think he still remembers everything?”

Dick shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine”

Jason crouched to Damian’s level. His eyes met Damian’s—twin planets lush with life, untouched by humankind, just as Jason remembered, before the League’s razing. They stared, each daring the other to blink first. Jet black tufts stuck up in haphazard spikes, as though they couldn’t agree on a direction to flow. One thing that didn’t change was the way Damian’s cheeks puffed out indignantly. Jason had to admit, it was sort of cute.

Fist balled, Damian leaned forward and bopped Jason on the forehead. Backing away, Jason rubbed the spot. 

“Kid still packs a punch,” he said. “So how long ‘till we can change him back?”

As if on cue, Bruce emerged in his full grim-dark bat-cape glory. “Zatanna said she can reverse it, but she won’t be able to get here until tomorrow.”

Dick turned to Damian, voice raised an octave. He pinched Damian’s cheek. “You hear that, Baby Bat? Looks like we’re gonna have ourselves some fun.”

That earned him a slap.

****

“Come now, Master Damian, I’m sure this carrot mash is up to your standards,” Alfred said.

Damian crossed his arms and turned away from Alfred’s spoon, as though he was Anton Ego from Ratatouille, refusing to just stick any random thing into his mouth. Jason smiled into his potatoes. When he caught Tim staring, Jason shoved a forkful of food into his mouth and pretended nothing happened.

“Let me try,” Bruce said. “I _am_ his father.”

“Master Bruce, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but what do you know about parenting?”

The entire table lost it. 

Dick wiped a tear from his eye. “Can I try?”

“You didn’t even give me a chance!” Bruce exclaimed.

“Be my guest,” Dick said.

“Alright.” Bruce scooted his chair closer. He took a spoonful of the orange mush and moved it in front of Damian’s face, down and up and all around. “Damian, look, here comes the Bat-plane. _Nyoo—_ ”

_Plop._

Apple juice nearly spewed from Jason’s nose.

Damian screamed. Baby food dribbled from the top of his head, down his tomato-red face, onto his Nightwing bib. Before anyone could react, Damian flipped the bowl, sending the contents flying onto Bruce’s white shirt. The plastic dishware clattered to the floor.

Alfred gasped in mock anger. “Master Damian!”

“It’s fine,” Bruce said. “This wasn’t my favorite shirt or anything.”

Luckily (or maybe unluckily), Alfred had another serving ready. He wiped the mess. “Shall we try again?”

“Ooh, my turn!” Dick said. He grabbed the bowl and spoon. “If you finish this all, you’ll get an extra special dessert. Er, Alfred, what’s for dessert?”

Damian refused.

Dick offered the bowl to Tim. “You wanna give it a shot?”

As though he could understand every word Dick was suggesting, Damian howled. He kicked his short legs and pounded his fists on the high chair tray.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Tim said. “Jason?”

Jason rolled his eyes. It couldn’t hurt to try—it was this or a hangry baby, and the brat was infinitely worse with the latter. Damian calmed down as soon as he saw anyone other than Tim take the bowl.

Jason scraped a spoonful off the top, grimacing. He looked Damian straight in the eye… and stuck the spoon in his own mouth. It tasted like barf, but Jason forced himself to swallow it, all while keeping a straight face.

Damian slapped the tray, crying harder.

“Oh, now you want it?” Jason asked.

Damian nodded.

“Fine, I guess you can have some. Greedy little twerp.”

The rest of breakfast went without a hitch. Jason ignored the mixed expressions of confusion and awe as he alternated between feeding Damian and taking bites of his own food. At one point, he let Damian steal some oatmeal from his bowl because apparently babies had black holes for stomachs.

A full day laid before them. And to Dick and Tim, that meant messing with Damian in ways they never could. 

Jason peered into Dick’s room. A neat row of brand-new onesies lined on the bed. As Dick bounced Damian in his arms, Tim picked up the onesies one by one, like a teenager deciding which outfit to buy from a store they couldn’t afford. 

“Personally, I think the Red Robin one suits him,” Tim said.

“Nah,” Dick said. “The Nightwing one’s better.”

“You already got the Nightwing bib.”

“How about the Batman one? You know, ‘cause he’s Baby Bats.”

“Hm… that just might work.”

Jason backed away. He slipped into his room and flopped onto his bed. Morning rays peeked through the wooden blinds. Jason cursed whoever invented the sun. He had spent the entire last night tossing and turning, nightmares of the League plaguing him. Hopefully, he could at least get some shut-eye.

That lasted exactly six and a half minutes.

_BLAM!_

The door rang like a gunshot. Groaning, Jason covered his head with his pillow and flipped the finger to whoever it was. “Go away.”

In marched Dick, holding Damian like Simba. Tim followed, playing medieval fanfare on his phone. 

Dick cleared his throat. “Jason, I present you the new and improved Bat Baby!”

Jason glanced at the Batman onesie. “And?”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Dick held Damian next to Jason’s head. “Look, he wuvs you. Isn’t that right, Dami? You love your big brother Jay-jay, right?”

If Jason’s expression softened when he looked at Damian, he didn’t let it show. He asked the baby, “Is Dickhead being stupid?”

Damian nodded.

“Called it.” Jason pulled the blanket over his body. “Now get outta here.”

“Come on, you don’t wanna spend time with your baby brother? He won’t be a baby forever,” Dick said.

Jason scoffed. “You think I don’t know that?”

Dick pouted. “Fine, be that way.”

The door closed. Jason let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. If he had to look at that baby any longer…

His eyes slid shut before he could finish that thought. 

The stench of black roses suffocated him like smoke. 

Every breath he took, the microscopic seeds planted themselves in his lungs and sprouted—up, up, ‘till his throat bled from the thorns. Brambles encased his brain; not a complex thought could get in or out. The buds of compliance tasted bitter on his tongue. Jason wanted to tear his windpipe out, but invisible ropes bound his arms to his body. 

He could only watch.

At the podium, a demon—an imposter messiah dressed in silk—preached to his loyal followers. Words boomed across the beautifully carved cathedral, but Jason’s ears were numb. Round of applause to the Devil for masking his horns as a halo. 

Pews upon pews of people, yet no one spoke up. The Testaments collected dust. Nobody dared play Angel’s Advocate.

Jason stifled under the suit. Around him, people cheered as though it was a wedding. He saw nothing short of a funeral.

Dressed in her Sunday best, Talia presented the baby before the service. The Devil took the infant in his dirty claws. Jason felt sick.

“Today, my loyal subjects, is a wondrous day. Through months of dedicated labor, the League of Assassins introduces its new heir: Damian Al Ghul.”

Damian looked at Jason with pleading eyes. 

“ _Akhi_.”

Jason stared straight ahead because anything was better than witnessing what would follow—they only rehearsed it a hundred times. He was the right-hand man. Thousands would kill—literally—to stand where he was standing.

Ra’s Al Ghul snapped his fingers. A lower-level soldier presented a parcel, shrouded in more roses. The silver tip glinted.

If he had the option, Jason would take the kid and run. He’d battle every assassin in the room and make his great escape in a fiery explosion. They’d make off into the sunset. Start a new life, like a dream—

Wait.

“As a League, we will raise him to be the pinnacle of humanity. He will be your greatest leader and our most valuable asset.”

Jason drew his sword. “Not if I can help it!”

All hell broke loose. 

With one arm, he snatched his brother, guarding the baby with his body. With the other, he knocked the holy water font off its marble pedestal. It splashed the Devil. As expected, he burned.

But that wasn’t what worried Jason. Proving a prophet false never led to a change in heart. It only made his followers angrier.

Jason barely had time to instruct Damian to stay behind him before the arrows hailed down. Each one bounced off his blade with a ping. He pushed against the gale.

Next came the blades. A silver storm—a flock of angry prey birds. It was ironic how the League trained Jason for this moment.

Clash. Parry. Cover Damian’s eyes.

Slash. Kick the bleeding assassin away. Shield Damian—even at the cost of taking a slice to his own face.

Right hook. Uppercut. Tornado kick.

The hilt collided with the back of one more assassin’s head before Jason shot the grapple fun from his belt. He secured Damian to his chest with his cloak.

“Hang tight, kid.”

The rope looped around an apple tree on the other side. A bottomless chasm laid below. If there was a God, Jason hoped they heard his prayers.

Sparks flew as the steel blade ground against the steel cable. Damian’s tiny fists clung to Jason’s shirt, lip quivering. The League was not far behind him.

They landed. 

Jason sliced the rope.

The assassins plummeted like lemmings. Was he supposed to find it so satisfying?

He shook his head. _Protect Damian first, have a moral dilemma later._

Jason double-checked that Damian didn’t sustain any injuries. 

A blizzard was coming; he shed his jacket and wrapped it around the kid. 

“Alright, buddy,” he said, “it’s just you and me.”

He scooped Damian up, and together they made their way toward Eden.

When Jason opened his eyes again, evening had set. A cold sandwich platter and a cup of tea from lunch sat on his nightstand. Alfred would be disappointed if he knew it went untouched, so Jason took a bite. And another. And another. Pretty soon, he’d finished the whole thing. He took the empty plate downstairs.

For a house hosting a baby, the Manor was quiet. Perhaps the Manor was just that big, but Alfred had placed baby monitors on every surface; the babbling sounds should be audible, regardless. Despite the closed window, the kitchen felt cold. Jason set the plate in the sink.

“Dick?”

There was no answer.

“Bruce? Alfie?… Replacement?”

Nothing.

“Dami—who am I kidding? He can’t answer me.”

A whitish-blue glow caught his eye. Jason followed it to the dark screening room. Brother Bear played on the wide plasma screen. Sprawled over the couch and rug, Bruce, Dick, and Tim were fast asleep, drool dribbling down their faces. Sitting in the middle, Damian’s eyes fixated on the movie. At least the family had the sense to put on something he’d enjoy.

Jason snapped a picture on his phone before clearing his throat.

The others jolted awake. Dick almost rolled off the couch and onto Tim.

“Oh, didn’t see you there, Jason. Sleep well?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, um, I was just bringing down the dishes,” Jason said, “and I saw…” He gestured to the TV.

“The gremlin loves it, though I’m not sure why,” Tim said. “We’ve replayed it three times already.”

Jason looked at Damian. “Is that true?”

Damian nodded.

Dick snapped his fingers. “Hey! We’ve been trying to get him to say our names.” He turned to Damian. “Dami, can you say ‘Dick’? Or maybe Bruce—er, I mean, ‘Da-da’?”

Damian let out an annoyed babble.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Kid’s only nine months old, he’s not gonna say anything soon.”

“Aw, that’s too bad—wait, how do you his age?”

“Uh…” The last thing Jason wanted to do was divulge the long and winding story of his time with the League of Assassins, and how he was, more or less, Damian’s babysitter. “Lucky guess?”

Dick picked Damian up, maneuvering away from Damian’s attempts at scratching his face. “Anyway, I think it’s beddy-bye time, right? Dami, say goodnight to your big brother Jay-jay.”

For a split second, Damian seemed to reach out to Jason. But his attention shifted just as fast, and that inclined Jason to brush it off as a fluke. 

With the baby asleep, dinner flew by unremarkably—Jason only launched peas at Tim twice and cursed once. Patrol was similar—same sucker punches and gunshots, the same routine of Bruce yelling at Jason for the latter, and the same blue-gray frozen rain.

Jason regretted sleeping through the day because now it meant lying wide awake. Tossing. Turning. Thinking. 

The more he did, the more he realized the others had no right pretending they knew what was best for Damian. 

Dick saw a cute baby to dress up and play with.

Jason saw the machine of the League, its gears grinding long before Damian’s birth, blueprinting the perfect killing machine.

Tim saw a kid who wouldn’t spring on him with a katana.

Jason saw armor measurements and practice dummies. He saw Damian being fitted with his first sword the moment he took his first steps; he saw himself standing idly as Damian swung it for the first time; he saw himself doing nothing as Ra’s slapped the child for not being perfect right off the bat.

Bruce saw the same son in a smaller body.

Jason saw potential.

Not the potential to be the perfect assassin like Ra’s and Talia did. Not the potential for a hardened vigilante and loyal Robin like Bruce. 

When Jason looked at this Damian, he saw the potential to undo the past ten years—the potential to raise Damian like a normal child. If it was up to Jason, he’d call off the reversal and keep Damian like this. Damian’s first steps would be on a soft living room rug, not a cavernous training arena. Before bed, Jason would read him _The Little Engine That Could_ instead of the skewed League history books. There would be no weapons, no fighting, no holding the weight of the world on his shoulders until the pressure drove him to do unspeakable things. Jason would watch the kid grow up with a Kryptonian’s smile. He’d be a damn good parent—better than Sheila Haywood, Willis Todd, and Bruce Wayne ever were—and he’d sure as hell love Damian more than the League ever could.

But Zatanna was coming first thing in the morning to change Damian back, and that’d be that. It would bum the others out, but they’d move on. Jason would have to deal with the haunting fact that he let history repeat itself.

And that was _not_ okay. Second chances happened for a reason.

Jason threw the blanket off his body, grabbed his shoes and jacket, and tucked a grapple gun in his pocket. Tiptoeing slowly, he made his way down the hall. Bruce was snoring like an elephant; so were Dick, Tim, and even Alfred. 

Silently, he slipped into Damian’s bedroom. The kid was fast asleep in Bruce’s old crib, swaddled in fuzzy blankets and his Batman onesie. The Robin cape was draped over a chair. No light peeked through the blinds—Jason could blame the clouded Gotham skies for that. The _tap-tap-tap-tap_ of the rain didn’t seem to bother Damian. Peacefully, he slept.

Jason checked over his shoulder.

Just like his lucid dream, he tied the cape around his chest in a makeshift baby carrier. The frigid air bit his face when he opened the window; thankfully, it didn’t wake Damian. 

Jason wrapped the blankets around Damian in neat layers (or as neat as he could) before placing him in the carrier. With one arm, he held the baby close. With the other, he hooked the grapple to the window ledge and gently lowered them.

His feet hit the ground.

And he ran.


	2. Part 2

The cold prickled his exposed skin. Heavy boots sloshed against the sidewalk; half-melted snow dampened his pant legs. Jason let the wind carry his prayers like passenger pigeons, hoping someone would hear his simple request to keep his brother warm.

He didn’t stop running, passing bars and intersections and trash can fires. The Bats would connect the dots soon. Jason needed to get out of Gotham.

The damp asphalt mirrored the fiery red stoplights, giving off the illusion of rippling blood pools. Jason slowed down when he reached the empty bus stop at the farthest edge of Gotham’s outskirts; angel wings and devil horns graffitied the smudged glass. He knew the city like he knew the parts of his gun, and he knew the circuits had stopped running hours ago.

_Plink plink plink plink plink._

Damian sneezed. Jason stepped under the foggy glass shelter, took off his jacket, and wrapped it around the kid. 

That didn’t stop Damian from crying.

Jason rocked him back and forth. “ _Shh_ , it’s okay. _Akhi_ is here. We’re gonna get you someplace warm real soon.”

He scrolled through his contacts. Who on Earth could he call that was outside of Gotham, qualified to take care of children, won’t rat him out to the Bats, and would answer their phone at this ungodly hour?

Jason pressed call.

_Ring… ring…_

Please pick up, please pick up… 

_Click._

Jason’s eyes lit up. “Roy! I need your help.”

“ _Hnng_ , put the body on ice, I’ll be there in five—”

“What? Roy, no, I didn’t murder someone this time. I’m at bus stop number 719, just outside the East end of Gotham—”

Damian wailed louder.

On the other end, a box spring shifted suddenly. “Is that a baby? Jaybird, what did you do?!?”

“It’s a long story,” Jason said. “I’ll explain later, my phone’s about to die—and it’s cold as balls, so hurry. Also, do you have a car seat on hand?”

“I think I can dig up Lian’s old one. Hang in there.”

Why won’t Damian stop crying?!? Jason pulled his brother close, whispering words of comfort that the baby probably couldn’t comprehend, occasionally interlacing them with Arabic lullabies—at least the ones he overheard Talia sing that didn’t have to do with inheriting the League and taking over the world. 

He was doing the right thing. Once Roy got them someplace warm, they’ll be in the clear. They’ll start over and everything will be alright. Everything will be okay. 

A few minutes trailed into an hour as Jason paced back and forth, doing his best to give Damian his body heat. The baby eventually fell asleep, but not after several waves of beadlike tears, which Jason wiped away. He planted a kiss on top of Damian’s head.

Canary-yellow headlights flooded the stop, and for a moment Jason thought it was an unscheduled bus. But then he saw the red hull and a flash of red hair underneath a red hat. Roy stepped out of the car as Jason placed Damian in a back seat containing a car seat.

Roy crossed his arms. “I had to call Lian’s sitter in at the last minute and it’s a school night, so you better have a damn good explanation. Like for starters, how you got a freaking _baby_.”

Jason buckled Damian’s seat belt. “Long story short, some Rogues wackjob turned Robin into a baby.”

“Alright.” Roy scratched his head. “Aren’t the Bats already on it, though? I’m sure _someone_ knows how to change him back.”

Jason climbed into the front seat and cranked the heat up. “Let’s just get out of here first.”

****

The Gotham limits sank into the black horizon. Damian was fast asleep in the back, breathing softly. The late-night news radio played at the lowest volume as Jason recounted every detail from the last twenty-four hours, and through each one, Roy stayed calm and collected as he navigated the winding Atlantic coast roads.

“Let me get this straight,” said Roy. “You think you have a shot at giving the kid a better childhood, so you snuck behind your family’s back, kidnapped him, and now you’re taking advantage of the fact that I’m not a snitch by roping me into this?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

Roy mumbled something under his breath in Vietnamese before saying, “I’m such an enabler. Well, since all of your safe houses would be on their radar, you can crash at my place ‘till we figure this out. Damian can use Lian’s stuff and I’ll go shopping tomorrow. Er, today, I guess.” He glanced at the clock reading, **“12:58 AM”**.

They passed a _“Welcome to Star City”_ sign, and a few minutes later they pulled into the snow-dusted parking lot of Roy’s apartment. 

“Kid can sleep in the carrier for one night, right?” Roy asked. “‘Cause we still need to set up the crib.”

“Yeah,” Jason said. “Hopefully he _stays_ asleep.”

Roy’s apartment was a second home to Jason, but in the silent darkness, on the run with a baby in his arms, the world felt more disorienting than when he dug himself out of his grave. The hallway stretched into oblivion like the haunted Arkham corridors, and the snores from within each apartment were ghosts breathing down his neck. 

He shook his head—he was probably tired and overthinking. 

Roy unlocked the door and motioned for Jason to be quiet. He nodded to the disgruntled elderly neighbor-slash-babysitter half-asleep at the kitchen table.

“Thank you so much.” Roy dug through his pockets. “Here, keep the extra. And sorry about the last-minute call.”

Stifling a yawn, Jason set Damian’s carrier on the table. “So, where’s this crib?”

Roy emerged from a cubicle-sized storage closet, pushing a box the size of a desk. “Here. Let’s hope I know how to assemble it.”

“You… don’t know how to assemble a crib? The same crib your daughter used?”

“I never assembled it,” Roy said. “Dinah did.”

Jason picked up the instructions, squinting. “Why’s it in Swedish?”

Roy shrugged. “Come on, we can set it up in my room—I don’t wanna wake Lian.”

“Wait, then he’s gonna wake you up in the middle of the night. He should stay where I’m staying,” said Jason.

Roy tilted his head. “I thought you were staying in my room.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You did that that the last twenty times you were here.”

Jason threw his hands up exasperatedly. “Dude, I’m not letting you sleep on the janky sofa bed when you have work tomorrow. I’m the asshole who got us into this, let me take it.”

Roy crossed his arms. “No one’s taking the sofa bed ‘cause Kyle broke it last time he was here and it won’t even open.”

“I can fix it tomorrow.”

“But—wait, weren’t we talking about the crib?”

“Oh, yeah. How did we get here?”

Jason unfolded the instructions, and together the two quietly began piecing together the crib, bringing the parts to Roy’s bedroom one by one, working by the pale light streaming through the translucent curtains. Thankfully, Damian didn’t wake up. Jason rubbed his stinging eyes and draped a towel around his neck.

Uncertainty gnawed at his gut. What if the Bats were on his tail? What if someone witnessed him and sold him out to the cops? What if… well, what if this doesn’t work? 

He hadn’t noticed how tight and closed-off his body had gotten until’s Roy’s arm around his shoulder loosened it. 

Roy said, “You got that thinkin’ face on. Well, it’s that or you’re constipated.” He poked Jason’s cheek. “Wanna talk about it?”

Jason shook his head. “To be honest, dude, I could use a distraction.”

Roy rested his chin on Jason’s shoulder and asked, “Wanna hear about how Oliver face planted last patrol while trying to impress Superman?”

A smile grew on Jason’s face. “Would I?”

The hours ticked on as the crib came together. Hushed inside jokes sliced through the veil of tension as the adrenaline rush from the escapade wore off.

“… Wait, wait, remember when Donna tried to sneak into the Arrow Cave to prank you but got stuck in the vent?”

Roy threw his head back. “I remember that; we had to break out the metal cutters.”

Jason wiped a tear from his eye. “Man, I’m _not_ letting her live that down.”

He checked his phone—no messages; must mean the Bats are still asleep. He felt his jaw loosen and stomach unclench. 

Jason reached for the screwdriver, but instead of the plastic handle, he felt a warm hand. 

His arm snapped back as he mumbled an apology, heat rising to his ears. “You can have it.”

“N-no,” Roy said, scratching the back of his neck. “You go first.”

Roy coughed, turning back to the almost-finished crib. “How’s the baby doing?”

Jason got up and peered over Damian’s carrier. The baby was sound asleep in his vigilante-themed onesie, hugging a scrunched-up blankie like a teddy bear, having seemingly already forgotten the nipping chill from a couple of hours ago. 

“Still sleeping,” said Jason.

“He’s kinda cute,” Roy said.

“Wait ‘till he gets hungry.” Jason brushed a strand of hair out of Damian’s face. “But yeah, kid’s pretty cute.” _Just as he remembered._

Someone’s stomach growled, though he wasn’t sure if it was him or Roy. It served as a reminder to Jason that he hadn’t eaten since the sandwich.

“Wanna order something?” Roy asked. “There’s this twenty-four–hour Chinese place that does delivery. I know how you like your takeout.”

Jason shrugged. “Eh, why not? I could go for an egg roll.”

While Roy ordered called the restaurant and prattled off a list of cliché Americanized Chinese dishes, Jason snapped a quick photo of Damian, curled up with the little bat-blankie—only, he didn’t realize the flash was on until it was too late. Jason fumbled to turn it off, but the yellow light illuminated the kitchen like it was daytime. Heart racing, he cursed when the baby stirred, watching with bated breath.

He exhaled when Damian rolled over and kept snoring. 

“Food will be here in thirty,” said Roy. “Don’t worry, I told them to knock quietly.”

It was enough time to add the finishing touches onto the crib; while Jason pulled the sheet over the mattress and fluffed the pillow, Roy dangled a colorful solar system mobile above the bed, and together they pushed the crib next to the master bed and stepped back.

Jason placed his hands on his hips. “Not bad.”

Somebody knocked on the door.

Roy wiped his hands on his pants. “I’ll get that.”

Meanwhile, Jason carefully laid Damian in the new crib, pulling the blanket over his tiny body. 

He placed a kiss on Damian’s forehead and pointed to the lazily spinning mobile. “See that? Someday it’s gonna be all yours, and _not_ in the world domination way. I haven’t figured everything out yet but… we’ll get there.”

Roy rapped softly against the doorframe. “I have it set up in the living room.”

Dawn’s first rays lifted the shadows. Rather than relying on muscle memory, Jason could navigate around the indigo-bathed furniture. The greasy, salty, savory smell reached him before the sight. Plastic soup containers and paper rice boxes covered the coffee table like a cinderblock foundation, while a plastic bag hung from the corner, waiting to consume their trash. 

After opening a rice box, Roy snapped a pair of chopsticks apart and handed them to Jason. “Figured you’ve had a long night, so I got all your favorites.”

Jason flopped onto the secondhand sofa. “You’re a lifesaver, Harper.”

“But not lifesaving enough for you to use my first name?” Roy teased.

Jason playfully shoved him before cracking open a box. “We’re _so_ gonna regret staying up.”

Roy snorted. “ _You_ called _me_.”

“But you answered, so what does that say about you?”

“That I’m not _that_ crappy of a friend?” Roy leaned forward and took a bite of the wonton in Jason’s hand. “Still pretty crappy, though.”

Jason rolled his eyes and shoved the whole thing in his mouth before Roy could get close again. “Still, we’re screwed when the day comes.” 

“Kinda like a hangover,” said Roy.

“Mm, I think hangovers are worse than sleep deprivation,” Jason said. “‘Cause think about it: it’s like waking up early on a Monday, but with like eighty-proof injected in your veins.”

“Okay, but you can sleep off a hangover.”

“And you can sleep off sleep deprivation.”

“Y’know what I think is worse? Pulling an all-nighter when you’re drunk.”

“At that point, wouldn’t you enter the morning still hungover?”

“No,” Roy said, sipping his soup. “A hangover happens _after_ you sleep.”

“That’s not how a hangover works.” Jason paused. “… Is it?”

“Yeah, it is, ‘cause otherwise you’re just plain drunk,” Roy said. 

“We should call Kory,” Jason said. “See what she thinks.”

They huddled around Roy’s phone as it rang. 

Once… twice… three times… four times… _click._

From the other end, their friend groaned. “Who did you kill this time?”

“No one,” Roy said. “Jaybird and I just have a quick question.”

Kory grunted—their signal to go on.

Jason asked, “If someone got drunk and pulled an all-nighter, would you say they’re hungover in the morning?”

“You guys are idiots. I’m going back to sleep.” She hung up.

Roy put his hands up. “She didn’t say I was wrong.”

Jason smirked. “She didn’t say I was wrong either.”

Roy shifted and stretched. “We should try to get some Z’s, though.”

Jason stifled a yawn, leaning against Roy’s side. “Way ahead of you.”

****

A few hours— _or was it a few minutes?_ —later, Jason awoke to sunlight shining through the windows and a little girl in pajamas prodding his face, dragging a floppy stuffed bunny along the floor.

She tilted her head. “When did you get here, Jason? And why are you and Dad sleeping like that?”

“Oh. Morning, Lian.”

As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, Jason became cognizant of him and Roy on the couch, still in their outside clothes, Roy’s arm wrapped around Jason’s torso. The former was still asleep, breathing softly against Jason’s leather-clad shoulder, until Jason flicked him behind the ear.

Startled awake, Roy rubbed the spot. “Ow! What the—”

Faces warming, they scrambled apart. Jason couldn’t explain why he liked it better when someone weighed down the couch cushion next to him. 

“Language,” Jason said. “There are kids here.”

Lian crossed her arms. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s complicated,” Roy said to his daughter. “I’ll tell you on the way to school.”

“You’re gonna tell me about the baby too?” she asked. “Where did you get him? Is he my new brother?”

“Think of him as a cousin.” 

“A _temporary_ cousin,” Jason said. “‘Cause this is all temporary. I think.”

Roy pointed to the bathroom. “Now go change.”

“I don’t have to,” Lian said. “It’s Pajama Day.”

Jason couldn’t help but half-snort, half-laugh. “Nice try, kid, but I’ve pulled that on Bruce way too many times.”

Lian retreated down the hall, pouting.

Roy cracked his neck. “I gotta take her to school and then head to work. You can go, like, get some extra sleep or whatever.”

Roy didn’t have to tell Jason twice, for Jason didn’t hesitate to make his way to the bedroom, taking his shirt off before he even entered the doorway. He checked on Damian—still asleep, like any baby—before crawling under the blanket.

Jason took a deep breath and let his eyes slide shut.

“ _WAAAAAAAAH—_ ”

This was going to be one hell of a journey.


	3. Part 3

Jason could get used to this stay-at-home parent thing.

Wait, that came out weird. It implied somebody else was the working parent, and Jason was _not_ about those kinds of archaic role assignments. Though, he _was_ bouncing Damian in one arm and wearing a flour-covered kitchen apron whilst vacuuming the apartment, so maybe there’s something to be said.

On the bright side, Roy had swung by during his lunch break with diapers, baby food, and a new pacifier, which meant there were a few less weights on Jason’s shoulders. Plus, there were a _ton_ of nappy changes. More than one would expect from a baby as tiny as Damian.

Otherwise, it was just Jason and his baby brother and a TV with a streaming service he didn’t know Roy had. 

And it was nice.

The rest of the Bats slipped his mind completely when he looked into those big green eyes. The worries of the world melted away whenever Damian launched a monologue in his nonsense babbles. Maybe this was why, despite all the wide world offered, people settled down with family, and maybe this was why they picked comfort over adventure.

Jason placed a kiss on Damian’s cheek before setting him in the playpen, next to Lian’s old stuffed animals.

He snapped a photo, grinning so much his cheeks hurt. “This one’s going in the baby book.”

The phone rang.

“Don’t move and don’t start sucking your toes again—that’s just gross.” He hit the answer key. “Hey Roy, what’s up?”

He heard employees bustling in the background. Someone’s shout echoed across the room. 

Roy said, “Something came up at work, so I need you to pick Lian up from school. You still remember where it is?”

“Like I ever forgot.” Jason grabbed his keys. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

He closed the door behind him, the dull _thunk_ sounding through the empty hallway.

“You’re not gonna forget the baby, are you?” Roy asked, amusement decorating his voice.

Jason cursed under his breath. “Where’s that baby carrier?”

Damian stared at him like, _“really?”_ as Jason zipped up the tiny Robin sweatshirt.

“Don’t look at me like that. We both know Dick would’ve done the same.”

****

The elementary school looked exactly like he remembered it—the parade of minivans in the parking lot, the teachers marching a line of kindergarteners through the art project–decorated door. Jason glanced down at Damian, strapped to his chest with a baby carrier that smelled oddly like burned rubber, then back at the tantrum-throwers and booger-eaters. Homeschooling was still an option, right?

He spotted Lian down the sidewalk, carrying a rolled-up poster under her arm. As Jason opened his mouth to call her, two older boys approached Lian, whispering amongst themselves. 

The bigger one slapped the poster out of her hands.

“Hey!” Lian exclaimed.

“What?” the boy asked. “I didn’t do nothin’. Maybe you should watch where you’re going.”

The second one snorted. “Like she can see anything.” He pulled the corner of his eyes thinner. “Look at me, I’m Lian Harper! I got weird eyes like the mom I don’t have!”

Jason rolled his sleeves up.

Lian picked up the poster and tried to push past, but a thick sausage arm knocked her back.

Their feet no longer touched the sidewalk. They struggled against the steel grip on their shirts.

Jason glared—a fiery blaze, burning like Superman’s lasers.

The larger boy, despite his friend frantically gesturing for him to shut up, had the audacity to cross his arms. 

He raised his eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Two seconds away from drop-kicking you to Kahndaq.”

Damian waved his hand at the first boy, as though trying to backhand him. A long thread of drool flew off Damian’s fingers and landed on the boy’s forehead.

The kids shrieked. Jason dropped them onto the swamp-like grass. 

Teeth barred, a low grizzly growl emerged from his throat. “ _Never_ touch my kid again.”

Nobody said anything as they tossed Lian’s things into the trunk. Lian didn’t greet him with her usual running hug and endless questions about everything. She hardly acknowledged Damian—just a glance as Jason strapped the baby into the car seat. Jason wasn’t sure if asking would make things better or worse. Whenever this happened between him and Bruce, Bruce left him to stew until he either forgot or took it out on a practice dummy.

Jason crouched, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Something wrong, kiddo?”

Lian looked down. “We made posters of our family and share them with the class.”

He had a decent idea of where this was headed but motioned for her to continue.

She sniffled. “Th-the teacher took points away ‘cause I didn’t include my mom.”

Jason opened his arms. Lian buried her face in his shoulder.

“Sh-she said it was half done ‘cause I only put me and Dad. And sh-she said it in front of the entire class and everyone laughed at me! This is the worst day in the history of worst days!”

Jason asked, “What can do to make it better?” 

“Tell Dad I don’t wanna go to school tomorrow.”

“Not sure he’ll agree to that,” he said. “How ‘bout I make you a deal?”

Nodding, Lian dried her eyes.

“Next time someone messes with you, you come straight to me.”

“And what’ll you do?”

“I’ll sneak into their room at night, and I’ll steal their noses. Like this!” He swiped his hand in front of her face and wiggled his thumbs between his fingers.

She burst out laughing. “You’re silly!”

“Hey, nose theft is a serious crime in America,” he said in a fake-serious tone. “I can only do it for people I love, otherwise I’ll get arrested and they’ll make me scrub the toilets with a toothbrush and share a cell with Jar-Jar Binks.”

They climbed into the car. Lian said, “I want my nose back.”

“After you buckle up.”

She buckled her seat belt and Jason handed her “nose” back. 

She wiggled her thumb in front of Damian. “See, Damian? This is a nose. N-O-S-E. Can you say _‘nose’_?”

“ _Dah!_ ”

“No, _nose_. Try again.”

****

With a backpack in one arm, Lian in the other, and Damian strapped in the carrier, Jason pushed the door shut with his foot. 

“Alright, what do you want for dinner?” he asked, setting Damian in the playpen.

“Pasketti!” said Lian.

“Alright, that’s one vote for spaghetti—”

“ _Pasketti_ ,” she corrected.

“My bad.” Jason turned to Damian. “What about you?”

Damian clapped his hands. “ _Dah!_ ”

“Pasketti it is. Lian, can you watch Damian while I get the water started?”

“ _Wait_ ,” Lian said. “I got something I’ve always wanted to use .”

She skipped down the hall.

Jason said to Damian, “You don’t need another diaper change, do you?”

Damian shook his head.

“Good. Wait till Roy gets back, then you can load up, ‘kay?”

Lian emerged from her bedroom donning a Party City–quality Arsenal costume, complete with a plastic bow and suction cup arrows.

Jason suppressed a laugh. “What are you doing?”

She perched on the corner of the playpen like a gargoyle. “Protecting Damian.”

Jason ruffled both their hairs. “Sounds good. Don’t set anything on fire without me.”

“Wait!” Lian said. She climbed down from her spot and pulled a colorful hardcover book out of her backpack. “I got something Damian might like.”

“Hm… it doesn’t look that long. Sure, why not?”

Jason placed Damian on his lap and Lian slipped herself under his arm.

“Dad does funny voices,” Lian said.

“In case you haven’t noticed I’m not your dad.”

“You sure about that?”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “You win, I’ll do the voices. And remind me to get you a _much better_ Red Hood costume next time we go shopping. This one’s too much polyester.” Jason cleared his throat and turned to the first page. “Today we’ll be reading _'The Little Engine That Could’_.”

****

Jason vaguely registered the door slam and a bag being tossed onto the couch.

“Smells good,” Roy said, hanging his jacket in the closet. “Better than whatever Damian let loose.”

Damian gave, for a lack of a better term, a shit-eating grin from inside the playpen. Plugging her nose, Lian scrambled away, shouting something about boys being the grossest. 

Jason stabbed open a can of tomato paste. “Yeah, well, in case you suddenly lost your eyesight, I’m working with food here.”

“No worries,” Roy said. “Leave it to the expert.”

“Is that really something to brag about?”

“Abso- _freakin’_ -lutely.” 

As Roy carried Damian to the bathroom, Jason said, “Don’t forget to wash your hands!”

Steam fogged the kitchen window as Jason checked on the noodles. The earthy-sweet fragrance of basil and thyme mingled with tear-inducing vapor from the onions on the cutting board. Jason sweat under his apron as the stove warmed the room to no end. He felt like a pioneer homemaker stoking the fire to keep the house warm in anticipation of a record-shattering blizzard, only it got too hot and now the entire cabin is on fire and they lost everything, including his great-grandmother’s pearls and the musket imported from London and the only copy of the Bible the family’s ever known.

A pair of arms encircled his waist, and a chin rested on his shoulder.

“Looks delicious,” Roy said. He pointed to a raw meatball. “Can I try one?”

“Be my guest,” Jason said. “Hope you enjoy salmonella.”

“That’s my favorite kind of salmon.”

Jason chuckled. “How was work?”

“Boring as usual.” Roy shrugged. “How was your day?”

“Better now that you’re here.” 

Roy placed a peck on Jason’s lips. Jason returned the gesture.

“Wait—”

“What the f—”

“Did we just—”

Roy backed away. “I-I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey now, who said you could leave?” 

“Huh?”

“Get back here and do that again.”

Confused, Roy retraced his steps, wrapping his arms around Jason and pressing their lips together. 

Jason nodded, adding the meatballs to a pan. “That’s more like it.” He craned his neck toward the living room. “Lian, go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.”

While Roy set the table and Lian waited patiently, legs swinging, Jason placed Damian in the high chair before scooping the food onto the plates. He pulled up a chair between Roy and Damian. It was a bit of a squeeze, but in a nice way.

“Elbows off the table,” Jason said.

Roy put his elbows down.

“So,” Lian said, twirling her pasta, “are you guys married now?”

Jason nearly spat out his drink. “What? No!”

“There’s a step before that, Lian,” Roy said.

“You sure about that?”

“Finish your vegetables first,” Jason said, “then you can claim whatever you want.”

****

Damian and Lian had insisted on _Brother Bear_.

Roy insisted Lian finish her homework first, and Jason backed him up… before proceeding to do Lian’s subtraction problems for her when Roy wasn’t looking (he used his left hand to make it look like a child’s handwriting).

Nonetheless, at the end of the evening, they wound up in front of the glowing TV. Jason and Roy sprawled across the couch (and each other) while Lian curled up in her favorite armchair with a knitted throw blanket. Damian sat on the faux fur rug, eyes glued to the screen. Jason’s muscles had all but calcified as Roy’s body mass forced them to stay frozen in an awkward position, and Jason was positive he was going to have to get a limb chopped off from the lack of circulation. The movie’s _annoying as hell_ soundtrack was almost enough to drown out Roy’s hippopotamus snores.

Jason was a cell phone running on two percent battery, and anyone who thinks he’d trade it for the world is an idiot. Exhaustion soaked every fiber like dish soap on a sponge, but not in the _“trudging into the Batcave in a soaked uniform after getting his ass handed to him”_ way. No, this was the feeling of a warm hearth after a winding journey. It was home. It was _hope_. A hope he hadn’t known in a long time.

Lian’s blanket slipped down. Jason reached across the aisle, past the unlit lamp, and pulled it back up, smiling softly.

He liked this tired. He wanted more of it.

His eyes drifted to Roy’s sleeping form. 

The knotted, shower-damp ginger locks were a beaded curtain hanging in front of his fluttering eyelids. What was that old saying? _Something something_ window to the soul? The tips of the hair and Roy’s warm breath tickled Jason’s neck. 

He adjusted the cushion under his neck. His hand traveled to the small of Roy’s back.

(Did Roy always smell this nice?)

Jason’s eyes had almost slid shut when something moved. He whipped his head toward the source.

Damian had pulled himself up and was slowly stepping toward him.

Jason’s eyes widened. He shoved Roy off and grabbed the phone.

“Hey!” Roy said. “What gives?”

“Look.”

Jason pointed his camera, and with his other hand, he beckoned Damian. “Come on, you can do it!”

One step.

Two steps.

Damian stumbled forward, and Jason was there to catch him, chest brimming with joy.

“You’re a fast learner, aren’t you?” Jason asked, hosting Damian up. “Next thing we know you’ll be taking on Wally West.”

Through the pacifier, Damian giggled.

“You got that on camera, right?” Roy asked.

“Uh, _duh_. It’s going in the baby book.”

“ _Dah!_ ”

Jason asked, “Does that count as his first word?”

Roy ruffled Jason’s hair, making it stick up in all directions. “We can decide in the morning.” He turned off the TV and picked Lian up. “I think it’s bedtime.”

“I’m not sleepy,” Lian said sleepily.

“Sure you’re not,” Roy said. “Bet you can stay up all night.”

Either Damian was easy to put to sleep or Jason was not as bad as he thought at the lullaby stuff. Spinning the mobile helped—like hypnosis. Jason tucked the blankie around Damian and stayed until he heard those soft, slow breaths.

Roy rapped gently against the doorframe. “Lian’s asleep. Wanna do something?”

“Do something?” Jason asked. “Like what?”

“I dunno. We can get out of here. I know this bar that just opened up across town with not-terrible reviews.”

“It’s Thursday,” Jason said. “And shouldn’t we stay sober? You know, for the kids? Speaking of, who’s gotta watch them?”

“I can call Señora Leal from next door,” Roy said. “Plus, who said anything about drinking?”

Jason glanced at Damian. “Stil…”

“Come on. It’s not bad parenting to take time for yourself once in a while. Helps to recharge, actually, and you’ll be even more ready to take on whatever life throws at you.”

Jason thought for a moment.

“Give me five.”

****

“You keep your arrows in your bike?” Jason asked.

“Not _just_ my arrows,” Roy said, tossing Jason a helmet.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Right, how could I forget the bow? I swear that thing’s a second daughter to you.”

“Says the guy who picked up a gun on the sidewalk just now.”

“It’s a _free gun_.” Jason climbed on and wrapped his arms around Roy. “Lead the way, Harper.”

The steady beat of the motorcycle engine grew louder. Yellow light flooded the parking lot. The only cars on the road were night shift workers and teenagers blasting their radios. 

“Might wanna hold tighter,” Roy said. “I like to go fast.”

“I’m gonna shank you with your own arrow.”

Nevertheless, Jason did just that. 

They wove between cars and busses. Jason reached forward and switched the station. Backwater country music blasted over the radio, and with both hands on the handles, Roy could do nothing but curse Jason out. Jason laughed.

The wind, tinted by traffic lights and cigarette smoke, rushed through his clothes. A symphony of cars honked as Roy narrowly beat a red light. Boutiques and bodegas flew by in a blur. Star City sparkled with life and Jason was _here_ for it.

Roy pulled into the slanted bike parking in front of a Fifties-themed bar. He opened the door with an exaggerated, “After you.”

“No, I insist,” Jason said in a fake English accent that would probably make Alfred cry. 

“Such a gentleman,” Roy said.

“Only for you.”

They flashed the bartender their IDs and Roy said, “Two virgin rum and colas, please.”

The bartender gave him a weird look as she cracked open a Coke can. 

“Check it out,” Roy said. “They got a jukebox!”

“You’re gonna load it up with your garbage music, aren’t you?”

“Uh, _yeah_.”

Jason accepted the drinks, taking small sips through the endless column of ice cubes. 

Hunched over a colorful jukebox, Roy played with the buttons, skipping and stopping songs to the other patrons’ annoyance. The corner of his tongue stuck out as he inserted a quarter.

“Having fun there?” Jason asked.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Roy said. “I haven’t used one of these since STAR Labs’ last gala. Here we go!”

Hard rock blasted through the speakers. Jason recognized the song instantly.

“This is my favorite.’

“I know.” Roy extended a hand. “Wanna dance?”

“Slow dancing to _Back In Black_?”

“I never say anything about a slow dance.”

Jason’s ears burned. 

Roy laughed. 

Despite not consuming a drop of alcohol, time itself melted in a haze of music and lights and moving and _Roy_. The rest of the world disappeared into his blind spot. More than once, he and Roy bonked heads and stepped on each other’s feet. Sweaty hands carded through sweaty hair. Jason’s shoulder hurt from walking into the wall, and Roy’s knee likely felt the same from bumping the table. But they threw their heads back and laughed like it was their last chance to do so.

The cool air hit them as they made their way out the door, having racked up quite the bill of soda and spicy nachos. 

“Jeez, I’m sweatin’ like the GCPD,” Jason said.

Roy said, “Yeah, well, I’m sweating like Hal after he tried Ollie’s chili.”

“The one with ghost peppers?”

“What other chili does he make?”

Jason tucked the helmet under his arm, eyes lingering on the guy in front of him. Who needed moonlight when there was the neon rainbow sign arching above? Each freckle was painted a different hue—red suited him the best, but so did yellow and green and purple. 

Roy tilted his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Jason asked.

“Like…” Roy gestured vaguely at Jason’s face. “ _That_.”

“Oh, you have a mosquito on your face.” Jason brushed his thumb along high cheekbone. “There, got it.”

“It’s November.”

The heat from Jason’s face alone was enough to keep him warm. Coughing, he pulled his hand back. “I, um, had fun.”

Roy bit his lip. “Me too.”

Jason tucked a strand of hair behind Roy’s ear. “May I?”

Roy’s hand traveled to Jason’s waist. He nodded.

The gap between them shrunk. Sweet, soda-scented breaths mingled like the smell of a candy shop. Jason’s heart simultaneously raced and slowed. His hand traced Roy’s jawline.

A glint hurled straight toward them.

“Watch out!”

He pushed Roy away. The latter stumbled, catching himself against a tree.

A searing pain shot through Jason’s shoulder as something burrowed into his flesh. He bit his tongue and yanked it out. 

Roy’s voice was distant as he pressed on the wound. All Jason could focus on was the bloodied batarang.

A pair of slender shadows surrounded them. The rainbow disappeared with the swish of a cape. 

_CLUNK._

Heavy boots struck the sidewalk. A silver glare pierced through the darkness.

“It’s over, Jason.”


	4. Part 4

“Roy, get behind me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I heard you say something stupid.” Roy drew his bow. 

“Just do it.”

“No!”

“Fine, be that way.”

Jason cocked his gun and turned to Bruce. “I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you.”

“We don’t want any trouble,” Bruce said. “Just hand over the baby.”

“Over my dead body,” Jason spat. “And I _know_ the Big Bad Bat won’t kill for his son.”

A low growl emerged from Bruce’s throat. Dick stood to the left, escrima sticks crackling with blue lightning. Behind, Tim and his bo staff cut the parking space off from the main road like a warden guarding a solitary cell. Jason’s muscles clenched. His heart leaped to his throat.

Dick said, “Jason, I don’t want to fight, but we need to bring Damian back.”

“No,” Jason said. “You had your chance to do the right thing, and you failed. I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

“Listen to us. You don’t know what you’re doing,” Dick said. 

Roy slipped Jason the keys. “Go. I’ll hold them off.”

Blood seeped through his jacket, warm and sticky to the touch. Roy nocked an arrow. Time slowed almost to a stop. A dozen options ran through Jason’s mind, but none stood out; it was down to a die roll.

Roy leaned in. “I have the perfect distraction.” He turned to Dick and Bruce with a sly smirk. “Guess what, Bat-nerds? I kissed Jason Todd and I fucking _loved_ it.”

Dick and Bruce paused. “Huh?”

_FWOOM!_

A flashbang arrow struck the head of a street lamp. For a split second, the block lit up like it was the middle of the day. Amber-white sparks showered onto the pavement. Civilians screamed and fled. Dick flipped out of the way; Bruce shielded his face with his cape.

Jason turned to Tim. “Don’t take this personally. Or do—I don’t care either way.”

The batarang left his fingers. It sailed through the air like the shurikens the League used, missing Tim’s head by less than an inch. Just as expected, Tim sidestepped, creating an all-too-convenient opening.

While Roy kept Dick and Bruce busy with a flurry of arrows, Jason mounted the bike and spun around in a ring of dust and exhaust fumes. The engine roar drowned out the Bats’ shouting. Tim dove to the side as Jason plowed through where he was standing.

As Jason wove through the sparse traffic, the speedometer counted up like a stopwatch.

_Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one…_

Jaw clenched, he leaned forward, feeling the air part around him like the Red Sea. Cars honked as he swerved back and forth. Countless drivers flipped him the finger. Despite the circumstances, Jason couldn’t help but chuckle.

_Seventy-five, seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight…_

He may as well use these precious seconds to plan his next move. As much as he dreaded leaving Roy and Lian, Star City wasn’t safe anymore. But where could he run that was far from the authorities and safe enough to raise a child? 

Metropolis? No, he’d have to deal with the law-and-order Kryptonians who will rat him out. 

Central City? That’s just Metropolis with speedsters.

_Eighty-seven, eighty-eight…_

He had cut across a red light when he heard another motorcycle gaining on him. He glanced over his shoulder to see the Wingcycle (which he still thinks sounds like a buffalo chicken takeout restaurant). 

_Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine…_

Ten rounds. He had to use them wisely.

_BANG._

The bullet ricocheted off the blue-and-black body.

_BANG._

Dick deflected it with his stick.

The intersection came into view. Green turned to yellow. Jason leaned in, adding as much gas as he could. 

Yellow turned to red. The cars on his side stopped; the cars on the other side sped up. Among them were two trucks coming in from opposite directions.

Jason veered around an angry taxi driver into the belly of the four-way. 

_One hundred and eleven, one hundred and twelve, one hundred and thirteen…_

He fired two bullets—one landed in a U-Haul truck’s grill, the other pierced through a mail carrier’s tire. Long, deafening horns filled the air. The trucks careened out of their lanes and smashed head-on. The wall of crumpled steel and exploding glass separated him from Dick, and Jason smiled as it forced the latter to slam the brakes.

The rest of the ride flew by smoothly, but Jason didn’t dare lift the gas once. The neon lights gave way to soft yellow Narnia-like streetlights. As far as his rearview mirror showed, he had lost the Bats.

Jason pulled into the alley by the apartment and hopped onto the rusty fire escape, wincing as the skin around his wound stretched like frayed cotton, threatening to tear apart further. A cry of pain rose through his throat, but he bit it down before it could escape and forced himself up the rickety, dew-coated ladder. The higher he climbed, the thinner the air grew, and Jason wanted to curse Roy for getting a top-floor apartment.

His foot slipped. His back hit the grate. 

The neighbor’s lights flicked on. _“What was that?”_

Jason scrambled to the top of the ladder as the lady opened her window. He couldn’t tell how long he was holding his breath until she went back inside. Lucky for him, the next window was his. Er, the Harpers, but pretty much his too.

He didn’t enter the bedroom so much as he flopped through the window like a raggedy mannequin. Jason suppressed a groan as an aching pain shot through his body.

From the living room, the neighbor they called was fast asleep in front of the TV. Jason made a mental note to tell Roy to get a more attentive sitter.

Damian stirred. 

Jason snatched a scarf from the hamper and wrapped it around the cut, binding it with his teeth. He strapped the baby carrier to his chest. 

There was no time, so the Nightwing onesie, bat-blankie, and Lian’s puffy jacket would have to do. He also grabbed the pink fuzzy earmuffs on the dresser—Roy once mentioned something about them being noise-canceling with all the fights Lian was near—and slipped it over Damian’s tiny ears.

Damian opened his eyes.

Jason carded his fingers through Damian’s dark, wispy hair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, but we gotta move.”

As he placed Damian in the carrier, a tiny voice piped up from behind him.

“What are you doing?”

Jason whirled around to find Lian standing in her Arsenal-themed pajamas, dragging her favorite stuffed animal behind her.

“You’re not supposed to be up.”

She crossed her arms. “That doesn’t answer my question. Where’s Dad? And where are you taking Damian?”

“Your dad’s safe and I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “You’re, um, sleepwalking.”

Lian tilted her head. “What’s sleepwalking?”

“It’s what you’re doing now,” Jason said. “This is all a dream. None of this is real.” He pulled off a corner of the cover on Roy’s bed. “You should lie down—sleepwalking’s a dangerous thing. You could get hurt.”

“M’kay.” 

She rubbed her eyes and slipped under the duvet, curling up like a roly-poly. Her eyes slid shut as soon as her head touched the pillow.

Jason brushed the jet black bangs out of her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

With one last glance, he opened the window and stepped into the cold, uncertain night.

****

To recap: Jason had forty-five dollars, six bullets, a baby, a stinging shoulder wound, a fake ID, a quarter of a gallon of fuel left in the motorcycle, and zero plan. 

He’s had worse odds… right?

They had made it to the outskirts of Star City when Damian started crying. Jason pulled up to the only building in sight: a motel with a flickering neon sign, next to a dimly lit gas station. A few cars were parked near the entrance. He tucked the bike behind the building before making his way to the front.

“I know, I’m tired too.” Jason bounced the baby in one arm while tugging the rusty-hinged door open. “Just one more minute, okay?”

A skunk-smelling cloud socked him in the jaw when he entered the drab-looking lobby. To Jason’s left was a small motel shop with food, toiletries, and baby supplies. To his right, an acne-ridden employee slouched over a paper-covered desk next to a computer from the Seventies, a hand-rolled cigarette hanging from his fingers. Jason covered Damian’s nose and approached the counter. 

Jason rang the bell three times before the employee turned his attention toward him.

“Can I help you?”

“I need a room for two.”

While the employee typed agonizingly slowly, Jason grabbed a jar of baby food, a can of formula, and a pack of diapers for Damian from the shop (and he slipped a candy bar under his wrist for himself). 

He tossed the items onto the counter. “And these too.”

“That’ll be $95.39,” said the employee.

Jason cursed. “Can I put it on a tab?”

“Name?”

“Jack Napier.”

The employee tossed him a strangely sticky key. “Room 357.”

The littered parking lot smelled a lot better than whatever that dude was on. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why the motel had so many open rooms. The pavement had more cracks than a desert, they boarded one of the first-floor windows, and the elevator held an “out of order” sign that looked like it had been there since 1983. Jason’s legs ached. The last thing he wanted was to climb the never-ending stairs to his room. 

Damian sneezed.

Jason squeezed Damian close and began the trek.

Climbing a flight of stairs shouldn’t be hard at all. Jason had survived life in the Narrows, Batman’s training, getting beaten by every Gotham villain, _literal freaking death_ , and Tim’s bedroom, so why did a set of steps and a breeze leave him feeling like an old man in need of a hip replacement?

A frozen raindrop hit his face.

Great. Just perfect.

The doors were all identical—an off-pink metal slab with peeling number stickers and tarnished knobs. Behind the shuttered windows were pockets of the void—potential hiding spots for whatever monsters Jason could think up. For now, they were vacant.

_Bap._

Jason blinked and looked at the baby. Damian reached out and bopped Jason’s forehead again before pointing to a door.

Room 357.

“Huh, I didn’t know babies had number sense.”

Jason tossed his jacket over a chair and placed the baby supply bag on the nightstand. The room wasn’t as bad as the outside suggested. The walls were still the same beige; the carpet was reminiscent of a kindergarten classroom and the place gave the vibe that someone had been murdered there, but the bed and bathroom were decent. Jason set Damian on the mattress.

“Alright.” He rubbed his hands, bringing them back from the brink of numbness, ignoring the glaring red digits on the clock. “Let’s get to work.”

Food: check.

Bath: check.

Diaper: check.

There was no crib and the bed was barely big enough for one, so Jason pulled out a dresser drawer and cushioned it with the bedding because the closet didn’t have any spares (he supposed he got what he paid for). 

“It’s no five-star hotel, but it’ll have to do.”

Damian stared at him, expressionless.

Jason crossed his arms. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m trying my best.”

Damian popped the pacifier out of his mouth and threw it at Jason, nailing him between the eyes. 

Jason rinsed off the pacifier and gave it back to Damian. “I swear, you’re aging me, kid.”

Damian blinked.

“ _‘Iinaa ahbk ‘aydaan._ ” He planted a kiss on Damian’s head. “It’s time for bed now, m’kay?”

Damian shook his head, turning away like the statement was a bowl of mashed carrots.

“You leave me no choice.”

The pulled-out drawer was barely wide enough for Jason to squeeze in, knees pulled to his chest. He felt like an egg that was too big for the carton. Damian giggled and clapped.

“You’re laughing. My butt’s stuck in a drawer and you’re laughing.”

Jason pulled himself out and balanced Damian on his knee. Emerald irises glimmered up at him, and Damian gestured to Jason’s white streak.

“Oh, that? Call it a reverse birthmark. Er, a deathmark, I guess.”

Damian touched his own hair, eyes crossing as he pulled a thin strand into his vision.

“You don’t want one,” Jason said. “This is one exclusive club you don’t wanna join.”

Damian yawned and nuzzled into Jason’s chest.

“I see. Normal things won’t put you to sleep, but misery and death will,” said Jason. “Good to know it’s the personality and not the League’s screwed-up upbringing. Problem is, I only have one story about dying. Can I interest you in some murders instead?”

Another yawn gave him his answer.

“Alright.” He got up and began walking around, gently rocking the baby. “Once upon a time, there was a Red Hood, and that Red Hood had a shiny gun…”

Jason didn’t look at the clock. Not when he laid Damian down. Not when he peeled his shirt off and dressed the half-clotted wound with alcohol wipes and toilet paper. He was surprised he didn’t lose more blood, but he’d lost enough that the lightheadedness almost caused him to trip over nothing.

Jason pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his photos, ignoring the time at the top of the screen. Time passed quicker when he kept busy and didn’t look at the clock. As he flipped through, he realized Roy appeared in virtually every one.

The first was a post-mission Outlaws outing. He forgot what the mission was, but the memory of him, Kory, and Roy at a late-night diner, where a funny tweet made Roy spew milkshake out of his nose. His hat was knocked askew and he wound up using everything in the napkin holder to clean it up; the waitress took pity and gave him a free dessert.

_Where was Roy?_

Next was Kyle Rayner’s house. Jason couldn’t remember if it was a birthday or what. All he remembered was Roy got so drunk he tried to fight Kyle’s Transformer-themed construct with nothing but a noisemaker and a sock full of macaroni. Jason cheered him on, red Solo cup in hand, camera ready to catch the epic fail.

_Were he and Lian safe at home?_

Jason scrolled to the most recent one: that neon bar with the jukebox blasting AC/DC. It was a selfie—Roy had taken Jason’s phone, climbed on a barstool, and snapped it. Roy’s face was flushed bright pink and his ginger locks a sweaty, tangled mess. His translucent white shirt revealed a Milky Way of freckles across his chest.

_Or did he get himself busted?_

Scrolling back, Jason stopped at his favorite photo. The picture, well… nobody knows it exists, and he wanted to keep it that way. Once again, he couldn’t recall the occasion—probably a Tuesday in June or July. Patrol sucked. The bad guys had gotten away. Roy had taken an ass-whooping from Weather Wizard, and Jason had received the standard “everything you do is wrong” lecture from Bruce. One phone call later, they were on the roof of some low-rise building in the Narrows. Jason had carried a marker on him and shaded in sections of Roy’s tattoos—Alfred and Leslie had recommended art therapy, but he wasn’t about to spend exorbitant amounts on fancy supplies—while Roy ranted about Oliver Queen, failed dating attempts, and the struggles of being a new parent. God, Jason could listen forever. Though their hands were gloved, a jolt ran up his arm when they brushed. Then he took the pic. Perhaps the lights were funny or there was something on his camera, but a soft gold ring framed Roy’s head like a Renaissance painting. In hindsight, that should’ve been the telltale sign. Friends don’t typically compare each other to famous artwork.

He glanced at Damian’s sleeping form. If the kid was his older self, Jason bet he’d say something like, _“Tt, you have a poor taste in mates. I can name a hundred heroes worthier than Queen’s ward.”_

But Jason didn’t want worthy. He wanted Roy.

_Was he thinking about Jason the same way Jason was thinking about him?_

Jason shook his head. That was ludicrous. Roy had better people to think about.

Rolling over, Jason flicked off the light and let his eyes slide shut.

****

Jason awoke not to sunlight or a crying baby, but spotlights shining through her blinds, moving back and forth. He glanced at the clock.

**4:06 AM.**

Damian was still asleep, breathing softly. From the outside, Jason could discern three different voices. Maybe four. And footsteps—lots of them.

He slid off the bed onto the floor and crawled toward the wall. With bated breath, he pressed his ear to the cool plaster under the windowsill.

 _“Traffic camera footage places him at this establishment.”_ Bruce.

 _“The front desk guy says there’s no one here under the name Jason Todd.”_ That was Dick. _“Only a Helen Flynn, Jack Napier, and Robert Hawkins.”_

_“I’ll follow up on that second one.”_

_“I found Arsenal’s bike in the back. I’m positive he’s here.”_ Was that Green Arrow? _“Even if not, he can’t be far.”_

_“Then we’ll search again. Leave no room unchecked.”_

Sticking close to the wall, Jason threw on his clothes and army crawled to Damian’s bed. He placed the earmuffs on the baby and loaded Damian into the carrier. When Damian stirred, Jason used the handy dandy pacifier.

Footsteps echoed across his section of the motel. He pressed his back to the wall between the window and the door.

_THUNK THUNK._

“Answer the door. This is official Justice League business,” said Dick.

Jason plugged his nose and said in a high-pitched Southern accent, “Ex- _cuse_ me? Don’t’cha’ll know it’s rude to interrupt a woman’s rest like this? I ought to report y’all to the city!”

“O-oh, my apologies, ma’am,” Dick said. “Sleep well. Sorry about the disturbance.”

Dick’s flashlight and footsteps disappeared. Jason held his breath, counting to fifty, before slipping into the bathroom. He locked the door and pulled the shower curtain aside.

Dull moonlight shone through a hatch barely wide enough for Jason and his brother. He adjusted the gun in his waistband.

Fingers grasped the rough wooden ledge. Jason pushed the window open and hoisted himself up, feeling Damian’s fists clench the thin shirt fabric. The thinly scabbed wound threatened to tear like a stretched rubber glove. 

Sneaking out was not something Jason was new to. Sneaking out with a baby… well, that was to be determined.

Heart hammering against his ribcage, Jason shimmied down the maintenance ladder. He touched down on the damp sidewalk by the swamp green garbage-filled pool. The lawn chairs were all pushed to one side. Chain-link fences surrounded him on three sides.

Jason pushed the hair out of his face and cocked his gun. He tiptoed along the fence’s shadow like a covert ops spy, gun pointed as he scanned the sparsely lit area. 

He took a few steps back and planted his foot on the ground. Jason didn’t need to tell Damian to hold tight—the kid was already doing that, plus Jason’s arm was a rollercoaster lap bar.

His feet left the ground.

The fence sliced his hand.

Solid ground reformed around him.

Jason _bolted_.

Dead thistles scratched his calves as he cut through the unkempt lawn. The only light came from the sky. He couldn’t see beyond twenty feet in any direction.

The grass gave way to rough asphalt and Jason slowed down as he approached the back of the gas station. Now the lights were too bright and cameras were everywhere. Jason flipped his hood up. Based on what he could hear, Dick and Bruce were still working with Oliver at the motel.

Damian’s face screwed up. A sob escaped his throat. Jason ducked into the (thankfully unlocked) restroom.

“Please don’t tell me you picked now to drop a stinker.”

Damian began crying.

“No? That’s not it? Alright, fine. We’ll figure it out, just _please_ be quiet. Are you hungry? I’m sorry, I left the food in the room.”

Jason did everything. He checked the diaper, gave Damian extra layers, and rocked the baby back and forth with soothing murder lullabies, but nothing worked. Seconds—or was it minutes?—passed. Damian wailed.

“I don’t get it,” Jason said. “I did everything I could think of.”

Damian paused his crying for a moment, before starting again.

“I swear, it’s like you’re stalling or something. Seriously, Damian, what do you want from me?!?”

Then, as though flipping a switch, Damian stopped.

Jason let out a sigh of relief. “Can we go now?”

Damian nodded.

Jason opened the door.

A thin bar stopped him from taking a step further.

No, not a bar.

A _staff_.

“Give me back my brother.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “How ‘bout you take a long walk off a short pier, Replacement?”

He ducked under the staff. 

Tim stepped forward. 

The sharp glint behind the mask resembled not the sleep-deprived caffeine addict, nor the teenager secretly texting Superboy under the table, nor the generous middle child who volunteered to take pictures at Alfred’s birthday party, nor the brother messing with siblings on patrol, nor the tech genius who could rival Oracle.

His voice was stone cold as he repeated, “Give me back my brother.”

_BANG._

Without flinching, Tim deflected the bullet. “Don’t make me say it a third time.”

“Not a problem.”

Jason placed his finger on the trigger, but instead of shooting at Tim again, he fired it at a rusty pipe running along the wall.

A geyser knocked Tim to the ground with the force of Aquaman’s water jets. Jason sprinted in the opposite direction as Tim put a finger to his comm. “He’s headed Eastbound behind the gas station.”

Jason skidded to a stop when Dick landed in front of him.

“I got him,” Dick said. “Jason, we gotta turn Damian back.”

Jason brandished his gun. “Not if I can help it!”

Bruce dropped behind him with a _thud_.

Jason barely had enough time to guard Damian before the batarangs hailed down. Each one bounced off the barrel of his gun with a _ping_. He pushed against the gale and fired at Bruce. Bruce tucked and rolled, face obscured with that stupid cape.

Next came the escrima sticks. An Arctic storm—a pair of angry prey birds diving toward him. It was ironic how this family trained Jason for this moment.

Clash with Nightwing. Parry the sticks. Cover Damian’s eyes. This was uglier than any dream Jason could figment.

Shoot at Bruce again. Somersault away. Shield Damian—even at the cost of taking a slice to his own face.

A right hook struck Jason’s jaw. Another uppercut connected before Jason’s eyes could tear up. Jason sent a blind tornado kick toward the attacker. Tim stumbled back, clutching his ribs.

An escrima stick collided with the back of Jason’s head. He stumbled forward and caught himself before he could hit the ground, squeezing a crying Damian to his chest. Jason fired a bullet at Dick, who cartwheeled away as it grazed his suit.

Jason began walking backward, gun pointed. “Stay back, I’m warning you.”

Dick said, “Come on, Jay. You wouldn’t really hurt us, would you?”

Jason glanced down at Damian, then back at Dick. “For him, without a doubt.”

“Are you sure this is for him?” Dick asked. “‘Cause it sounds like this is all for you.”

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course, this is for him. He deserves a normal childhood _far_ from all this and I’m gonna give it to him.”

“Jason,” Bruce said, “you’re being selfish. You cannot keep him like this for your satisfaction.”

“You shut up!” Jason pointed the gun at him. “You don’t know jack shit about raising a kid!”

Bruce growled and moved to grab his batarang, but Dick stopped him.

“Think of it this way,” Dick said. “One day Damian’s gonna get older and find out the truth. Do you really want him to resent you when he grows up?”

Jason lowered the gun for a second before raising it again.

Tim spoke up, expression softening. “I agree with Jason: Damian’s upbringing was messed up and he deserves to be like any other kid.” He turned to Jason. “But we can’t neglect the positive things that came out of it, either. He has friendships, passions, and happy memories that shouldn’t be erased. And he has _us_. We’ll always be a family.”

“I know you mean well,” Dick said, “but his life is not yours to determine. Whatever happens, you’ll always be his big brother.”

Damian clung to Jason’s shirt, his tiny tears creating splotches on the fabric. Big green eyes gazed up at him, as though relaying a pleading message.

The gun hit the ground.

Jason put his hands up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Iinaa ahbk ‘aydaan (Arabic): I love you too


	5. Part 5

Jason didn’t remember the ride home. Not that there was much to remember—only silent disappointment radiating in waves like a space heater. The only bright side was he got to hold Damian; the kid refused to let anyone else touch him. The closest thing to “talking” in the Batmobile was the GPS’s robotic instructions.

_Turn left in five hundred feet._

_Take the exit._

_Continue on Interstate 37 toward Burnside._

The street lights were window blinds casting silver slits as they sailed through the silent night, shining on Damian like the Bethlehem star. Jason pulled him close, drinking in the fleeting glimpses of innocence. Never did Jason wish more for feathered wings. The engine’s thrum, the car’s steady movement, and Jason’s arms lulled Damian to sleep halfway to Gotham. 

On the opposite end of the middle seat, chin resting in his hand, Tim stared blankly out the window, blinking whenever they passed a car as though counting them. His wingsuit concealed his body. A shapeless bird blob, like the teenage lump Jason knew on rainy days and lazy weekend mornings.

Jason tapped Tim’s shoulder. “You wanna hold him?”

“Huh?”

Jason extended Damian toward him.

Tim hesitated. “You sure? I know how much he means to you.”

“You’re his brother too,” Jason said. “Go on.”

Slowly, Tim scooped the baby in his arms. Jason guided Tim’s hand to support Damian’s head.

“He’s so _little_ ,” Tim breathed. A soft smile spread across Tim’s face when Damian yawned and nuzzled his face into the Red Robin logo. “I always thought it’d be like this.”

Jason sat back and let Tim hold Damian for the rest of the ride, biting back the sentimental grin at Tim’s quiet baby-talk. 

“Hey, Dami. Not sure if you recognize me, but I’m your big brother, Tim.”

The lighting was garbage, but that didn’t stop Jason from taking one more photo.

The grinding garage door brought Jason back to reality, and once again somberness dropped like a theater curtain. The Cave’s draft wrapped around Jason’s body like a bothersome phantom. He didn’t think Thomas and Martha were huggers.

Jason avoided Bruce and Dick’s eyes. He vaguely registered Zatanna; he didn’t dare look at Alfred.

“The spell shouldn’t take long,” Zatanna said. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time somebody got turned into a baby.”

Jason spared a glance at Damian, and another at Tim, before heading upstairs. “I’m going to bed. Wake me up and I’ll blow your brains out.”

Alfred said, “Master Jason, at least allow us to dress your wounds.”

Jason tugged his jacket over the cut. “What wounds? I’m fine.”

He was halfway up when Tim handed a fully awake Damian to Zatanna. Jason turned away; it’d hurt less this way.

Damian began howling. 

“Help, please,” Zatanna said. “I can’t complete the ritual if he’s not calm.”

Dick cracked his knuckles. “Don’t worry, guys, I got this.”

Jason kept walking. Babies cried all the time around strangers. This was temporary.

The crying grew louder as Bruce insisted on taking over. They passed Damian around, each trying to calm him, and each failing as the crescendoing wail threatened to tear their eardrums apart. 

Screw it.

Jason looked back. His eyes locked with Damian’s tear-filled ones.

“ _AKHI! AKHI!_ ”

Dick asked, “What’s he saying?”

Jason was already at the bottom of the banister, taking Damian in his arms.

“ _Shh_. It’s okay, everything’s okay,” he said. “ _Akhi’s_ here, and he’s not gonna let anything happen to you.”

The sobs died down. Jason rocked Damian back and forth, whispering Arabic lullabies until Damian’s eyes slid shut. The grip on his shirt loosened as tiny breaths tickled his skin. Jason never took people seriously when they said babies had that unique scent, but now, with Damian’s face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, it choked him. It suffocated, but he held on.

Bruce took off his cowl. His brows unfurrowed almost apologetically. “Jaylad…”

“Right.” Jason cleared his throat and handed Damian to Zatanna.

Bruce placed a hand on Jason’s uninjured shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

“What?”

“Go to sleep,” Bruce said.

“You’re not gonna punish me?”

“I will. I haven’t decided your punishment, but it can wait until you rest and recuperate.”

Jason looked over at Damian.

“We won’t let anything happen to him,” Bruce said. “Promise.”

****

If Jason’s sleep schedule wasn’t messed up before, it sure was now. What time was it? Dawn had broken when they arrived at the Batcave, the thin purple needles piercing black silk. Now it was dark.

Jason rolled over and slapped the snooze button even though the alarm was silent. His entire body screamed for him to fall back into unconsciousness. It felt like Deathstroke stabbed him, Bane snapped his spine, and the Joker whacked him over and over with a crowbar. He reached for his phone. His eyes adjusted to the harsh blue-white lights and, once again, he gravitated toward the photos. He’s not sure why. Perhaps it’s because nothing bad happens in still frames.

Damian was sitting amongst couch cushions and sleeping grown-ups, his eyes transfixed on the TV screen. Empty popcorn bowls and chip bags were strewn about the flower-patterned rug, and the camera had caught just about everyone at an unflattering angle. For the first time, Jason saw Damian watch without observing; pay attention not out of obligation, but from the sheer love of something. Kind of like how Big Damian was with art and animals.

Jason smiled to himself as he scrolled to the next photo.

They were at Roy’s house assembling the crib. Damian had fallen asleep in Lian’s old Barney the Dinosaur–themed carrier, curled up with the Bat-blankie that Jason hoped they planned on keeping. The lighting was weird since the flash had unexpectedly gone off. The near-miss had given Jason a heart attack, but looking back, it was worth it. No Damians were harmed in the making.

The kid was probably back to his normal self. Jason didn’t want to get up and find out. He swiped to the next one.

Damian was in the playpen, stuffed animal in hand. He stared straight at the camera, as though to say: _“The jig’s up! I caught you red-handed! Surrender your weapon or die by the wrath of Mr. Fluffy Ears!”_ If it was Big Damian, those eyes would’ve been filled with murderous rage, and the plush would’ve been a katana. But this was Little Damian. The only weapons Little Damian had were puppy eyes peering over the edge on his tippy toes.

If the Bats told Damian everything, then the kid probably didn’t want anything to do with Jason. Any sane person would.

Lian’s in this one. Damian was on his feet, supported by nothing but the surrounding air. Lian knelt at the end of the rug, beckoning Damian toward her. Jason never knew pride before then. Contentment, maybe. Smugness and the _“I told you so”_ victory, absolutely. This? Jason never had much to be proud of—Robin, the Outlaws, perhaps even getting in Bruce’s good graces. This was different. Something grew in his chest that day—a balloon swelling without the worries of popping. He bet Ra’s would want his grandson to walk earlier or faster. To Jason, it was beyond perfect.

… Was it? What if everyone was right? What Damian remembered everything, and Jason was on the cusp of tearing all that away from him? 

That brought them up to last night. Er, this morning. Jason letting go of his brother, placing him in the trust of his other brother. Tim deserved it more, anyway. Life was funny like that. Jason never planned to have a baby brother but wound up with one in the League of Assassins of all places. Tim always wanted one but didn’t get it. At least, not in the way he expected. For a moment, the universe was as it should have always been.

The next picture… actually, the next picture was Roy.

The door opened. Jason tossed the phone aside and pulled the duvet over his head, pretending to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake, Todd. Pennyworth sent me to check on you. And to bring you this.” A ceramic plate touched the nightstand; the chicken noodle soup smell filled the air.

Jason rolled over, meeting a pair of familiar, time-worn, battle-hardened, but still glimmering emerald irises, coupled with spiky ebony hair and warm tan skin.

“Father also told me to relay your punishment. You are to cover everyone’s missed patrol shifts, relinquish your most recent case, and clean the entire Batcave.”

“That’s it? I expected more,” Jason said.

“ _Tt_ , everyone knows you’re his favorite.”

A moment of numbing quietness passed.

“How much did they tell you?”

Damian sat on the edge of the bed. “Nothing. This entire ordeal was confusing with a diminished brain, but I remember everything.”

“Everything?”

Damian nodded. 

Jason buried his face in his hands and groaned. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”

“Let’s see: you kidnapped me, put me in an uncomfortable accommodation, fed me subpar infant cuisine—”

“Alright, I get it.”

“I’m not done,” Damian said. “You refused me the right to see my family, placed me in physical danger knowing I could not defend myself, and _not once_ considered what I wanted.”

“I’m so sorry, Damian. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, say the word.”

“No need. You already repaid me.”

Jason tilted his head. 

“You made countless mistakes, yes, but you also gave me in twenty-four hours what the League failed to show in a decade.” Scooting closer, Damian handed Jason an ice pack. “Thank you.”

The cold seeped through the plastic onto Jason’s bruise-littered body. He grunted and laid his head back on the squashed pillow. 

“I still screwed up,” he said. “I thought… I thought I could change things. Make life… I dunno. Guess some things are out of my control, huh?”

“True.” Damian pointed to the phone. “But some things are not.”

Jason glanced at the device, then at his brother. He pulled himself, the aches and pains drumming into his bones, and threw on the nearest clean shirt. Cold feet touched colder carpet.

“I should probably get on those make-up patrols.”

A pair of slender arms circled his torso. Smiling, Jason ran his fingers through Damian’s locks.

“Looks like someone kept his baby hair as a souvenir.”

“I will put your head on a pike.”

Jason chuckled and pulled Damian closer. “ _‘Iinaa ahbk_.”

Damian squeezed back.

“I love you too, _akhi_.”

****

Patrol was slow.

 _Uncharacteristically_ slow.

Like, _not even a teenage bike thief_ slow. No wonder everyone took the night off.

Jason wasn’t sure whether to thank God for being able to rest and grab food or to curse the never-ending trail of less-than-pleasant mental images to nine hells. Following several hours of the on-and-off rain soaking through his costume, he could finally see the lavender dawn peek through the straddling nimbus clouds, like the sun wanted to double-check it was alright to come out. With a takeout bag under his arm and a condensation-coated cup in hand, Jason swung to the nearest rooftop. 

Nothing could reach him. Not the back-alley dumpster stench, not the villain of the week, not Batman. The amber flame danced on the tip of the lighter, as though it’d come to life like a Disney-esque animated trickster sidekick. 

Cigarette between his teeth, Jason touched it to the lighter and took a long drag, letting the smoke suffocate any lingering shadowy thoughts. Which god-awful brainwaves would replace them, he didn’t know. 

He reached beside him, only to find empty air. A pebble of disappointment sank to the bottom of his chest, sending ripples across his body. Was it always this cold? Jason took another puff, and when it failed to warm him, he tossed the stub over the ledge.

Tim said the Harpers were okay. That was all Jason needed to hear.

He closed his eyes and let the four A.M. breeze brush him like it brushed Dutch tulips and Japanese cherry blossoms. Alfred would call this mindfulness. Jason called it _“brain cells shut up time”_. 

One cell didn’t get the memo. It must have taken the quiet time as a cue to fire like a machine gun, bombarding Jason with memories etched in scars and stolen adventures.

He could hear it in the silence.

“Jaybird.”

Jason whirled around, gun cocked.

“Woah there, buddy.” Roy put his hands up. “It’s me.”

Jason re-holstered the weapon. “How many times did I tell you not to sneak up on me?”

“Sorry, you looked all… zen, and stuff. I didn’t know what to do.” Roy gestured to the cup. “You gonna drink that?”

“Why do you think I bought it?” Jason asked, handing it to Roy.

One loud, annoying slurp later, Roy offered it to Jason; Jason took a sip.

“You know, by the transitive property, we just kissed,” Roy said, taking the straw in his mouth. 

Jason snorted. “Transitive property, my ass.”

At the end of the block, streetlamps flicked off as the peony morning rays outshined whatever ancient bulb the city installed. Purple clouds parted like a zipper. They probably in a decent neighborhood, because no one was rushing to their early morning shift. Branches rustled in time with Roy’s ice-chewing. 

“How’s Lian?”

“She’s fine,” Roy said. “She’s spending the night at Ollie and Dinah’s. Though she spent all day yesterday asking about you.”

“Figured,” Jason said. “A random baby shows up and disappears in forty-eight hours. Of course, she’s gonna question that.”

“I didn’t say anything about Damian.” Roy chugged the rest of the drink despite Jason’s protests to save some before digging through the bag. He tossed a fry in his mouth. “If you ever feel like playing house again, Lian would be all for it.”

Jason placed his hand next to Roy’s. Their pinkies overlapped.

“I think I’m done pretending.”

There it was again. That trick of the light, casting an ethereal, bonnet-like ring around Roy’s head. Dewdrops clung to the flyaway strands and his copper lashes curved up like daisies reaching for the sky. Roy’s words flew over Jason’s head, but that voice kept playing in his brain like a setlist composed just for him. Jason made note of how Roy blinked rapidly when he got excited. A few bruises—no doubt from their Star City fight—peeked out from under the crimson sleeves. It wasn’t what Michelangelo had in mind when he painted the Sistine Chapel, but it was beyond perfect for Jason.

Heat spread from his hand, which he tried to ignore by counting the freckles on Roy’s face. _One, two, thirty-four…_ he lost count. They all looked the same; some clumped together to look like a big one. But he didn’t mind staying and starting over. No, not at all.

Roy paused in the middle of his food critique. “Why are you looking at me like that? Did I spill mustard on my uniform again? Goddamnit, this was my last clean one—”

Jason grabbed Roy’s face and sealed the gap between them.

He’s had plenty of others—ones with fireworks, incinerating inhibitions, and the world going up in thick billows; the ones where he had to face down a thousand foes to prove he was worthy of standing where he was. Those were blood, sweat, and desperation. They were regrets in the aftermath; the burden of knowing he should’ve done better.

This was none of that. 

_Au contraire_ , this was the feeling of sinking into silken sheets after a long battle, the gentle warmth caressing his bones. This was sleeping in late and waking up to the cat’s purr. A feather-light touch landed on the small of Jason’s back. The smell of smoke and gasoline mingled in the air like the nostalgia of growing up a block from the corner store. Orange soda sweetness pulled him in, _closer and closer and closer_. This wasn’t a fight. This was a _reason_ to fight. 

They pulled apart, foreheads resting against each other. Peridot irises glimmered with gold as the sun’s edges inched above the horizon. Jason liked to imagine this was the color of Eden’s rolling hills—ones he could roll down and bask in its summer.

Jason can’t help but wonder why people worry so much about achieving Paradise. Is it truly something so exclusive that it must be earned? Maybe heaven is rabble-rousers dancing under traffic lights. Maybe it’s the parent who hands their child a dollar to give to the homeless man. Maybe it’s the young hearts taking on the world and old souls finding their niches to settle in. Maybe heaven isn’t a destination, nor a reward, nor a choice. Maybe it just _is_.

Roy quirked a smile. “Do it again?”

Jason grabbed Roy’s shirt and pulled him back in.

Maybe he’s already here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Iinaa ahbk (Arabic): I love you


End file.
